Another lost blog. Cry for me.

I recently began taking vitamins to replenish all the good stuff my inactive ass never uses, besides that which may be expended standing in front of the fridge, staring blankly at the mass of fruits and vegetables that are staring back at me. When I told Darren my plans for a better me, he told me my urine would turn glow-in-the-dark. I mean, he told me other stuff too, but that's the most important.

And let me tell you, people, IT DOES! I've been so excited to pee for the past week and a half. It's no longer a chore - it's a treat! Even if these horse pills don't have anything in them that will actually make a person healthier, they'll sure help with the water intake. All I do lately is drink and drink and drink, waiting for the next time I get to pee so I can turn off the lights and splash in the glorious urine glow.

If any of the following subjects bring up mental images that make you want to throw up a little bit in your mouth, I advise that you stop reading this now. Trust me, you’ll be glad you did.
- periods, blood, etc.
- leaves stuck in my confidential crevices
- me walking a mile with my right hand cupping my pubic bone
- my dog suffering from a bad case of constipation

Also, those of you who have heard and were disgusted about the story of my bloomers that currently reside somewhere on train tracks between Rome and Paris should stop reading immediately and erase all of this from your mind.

I’m about to tell you a story that’s inappropriate for, well….for just about anyone to read. I think I’m just writing it as a reminder to myself that some things really suck, but I’ll laugh at them someday.

Right now I’m at home and, thank you, Lord, the snow has melted. It’s a glorious day, pushing 50 degrees, and the sun is shining. When I’m at home, I typically walk for a few miles down the highway because, well, there are very few cars that travel on said highway and it’s more like a wilderness walk on pavement – you know, the kind city people love.

Yesterday I went to a walk on the highway and my frigging dog found a way to make me feel guilty about not taking her with. She doesn’t do walks on the road because cars hit dogs and kill them and dead dogs aren’t fun dogs. She goes for walks on the trail behind the house. The unpaved trail with lots of anomalies to trip and hurt oneself on. (That’s why I choose the road more traveled.)

My dad told me it’s beautiful behind the house this time of year. Since I don’t doubt a word he tells me and since I didn’t want to disappoint Lucy yet again, she and I just went for a walk behind the house today.

But before we went, I realized an old pair or pants fit me. They actually fit! Khakis too, which is exciting because I’m in dire need of khakis. So I wore the khakis.

Did I mention I got my period this morning? I’ve heard a lot of women complain about the bloating and the PMS and the cramps that accompany one’s special feminine time. However, the part that really bothers me is the blood flowing from my vagina. It’s sort of inconvenient, you know?

I also have a problem with the unreal cost of feminine products. Not to mention a finance problem. I’ve been going without blood blockers, both tampons and pads, for a couple of months now simply because I’d rather spend my money on candy corn and pop, so I wadded up some toilet paper and stuck it on up there. It’s been effective enough in the past, damn it.

I suppose you can see where this is headed.

Lucy and I set off on our walk and about ten minutes in I realized there was going to be some leakage. I was reluctant to turn back (and disappoint the dog?!) so I did what any wilderness-raised gal would do. I gathered up some leaves and stuck them in my underwear.

Let me be the first to tell you, in case you haven’t figured it out for yourself. Leaves aren’t absorbent at all.

Lou and I pushed on, enjoying the leafy yellow carpet that crunched under our feet and the cool breeze that whispered secrets about winter’s coming despite our yelling, “SHUT UP! WINTER’S NOT COMING THIS YEAR!” But that was just me, not Lucy.

Five minutes later, I looked down and realize just how not absorbent leaves are. There was blood on the pants that finally fit. Blood on the khakis.

I reluctantly turned back, much to the dismay of poop-plugged dog. I thrust my hand down my pants and tried to stop the blood flow from seeping even more through my fingers and onto my pants that finally fit. I walked like this all the way home, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t meet anyone, mostly my dad, on the walk back.

All the while, Lucy kept stopping to try to shit and nothing was doing. Poor dog. Somebody feed her some fiber!

I got home, removed my pants that finally fit, tried to wash out the blood, removed the bloody underwear and picked off the bloody leaves that were stuck all over my naughty bits.

I’m pretty convinced the only reason I got my “little friend” today is because my apartment’s shower is going to be out-of-commission for the majority of the week and I won’t be able to wash the filth from my body.

Getting my period does not make me feel clean. Getting my period does not make me feel healthy. Getting my period does not make me feel pure. I think it’s great that it makes others feel that way, but it only makes me feel dirty. Dirty, dirty, dirty! And now I don’t get to wash the blood off until some time in February, when maintenance finally decides to fix our fucking shower.

I woke up this morning to find snow on the ground. Plus it's COLD out there. Cold enough to snow, as a matter of fact. And people seem to think it's only going to get worse. I'm not ready for this.

Forget it. Forget the story of the vomit and its warmth and the chunkiness and the hitting of my face with the vomit and...ick. It's too late for it now anyway. It was a truly Exorcist-like dream and I don't care to ever think about it again. Besides, I'm pretty sure I've told everyone I ever talk to all about it. Sorry about that, folks.

I spent the weekend with Darren, as I do every other weekend. That, of course, means I'll be headed home this coming weekend to work for peanuts, as I do on weekends that Darren isn't here. I love it because I always have something to look forward to. I had an awesome weekend - lots of laughs and sharing of essential relationship information. A good time was had by all (err. both). It was probably the last nice weekend (weather-speaking) I'll spend in Duluth as an actual resident here, so I tried to make the most of it.

Did I mention I had pizza? Lots of pizza from Pizza Hut. Moderation always was a problem of mine... I had cake, too. And chips. And overconsumption of calories in a way that shouldn't be legal. Oh yes, and it gets worse. On Saturday night, I ended up at Perkins eating a chocolate chipper sundae which made me feeloh-so- icky in such a good way. All in all, I was a bad, bad girl this weekend and now I'm left with it weighing on my conscience. Time to double-up on this dieting effort. Oofda.

That's about all that's been new in these parts. I miss my dog. Not even two weeks since I've seen the smelly little shit and I miss her. Yoses!

But wait: one last thing. Last Wednesday Brian and Kelly and I went to Twins Bar, where my parents met. I was so excited I called them up to tell them. (My dad's response? "What the hell were you doing there?!") Of course, then he proceeded to tell me he'd never been to the "new location." New location! So yes, they actually met at the OLD Twins Bar that was just down the block from the current location. All that excitement for nothing...

What the hell? Here I type up this intriguing blog about warm, chunky vomit, and it doesn't post. Bummer. I better post it again later because there's no way you people can live without hearing this story. Okay, so it's not that great...but I'll get to it anyway.

I have a fishy feeling that this blog is going to turn into one big rave-filled forum in which I elaborate on the wonders of my weekends.

I had such a wonderful weekend and, now that my only class of the day has been cancelled, I'm going to spend my free time telling you about my weekend rather than doing something productive like, say, tackling that homework that's due tomorrow morning.

On Thursday afternoon, my dad came to pick me up and bring me home. Not only did he come pick me up just so I could go home for the weekend, he also took me out to Red Lobster before the journey home. Holy balls did I eat. Even now thinking about shrimp makes me want to vomit a little bit. My dad is very likely one of the coolest men alive.

So we went home and I worked on Friday afternoon. I suppose that's not too exciting, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. On Friday night Angie came home and I was awake until 3 AM talking to her. How does that happen every damn time she comes home? Anyway, the whole lack of sleep was kind of brutal because Brody and Audrey were over at 9 AM Saturday. I fell more in love with Beeb, if that's possible, and seriously contemplated kidnapping his sister. Of course if I took her I'd have to take him, too. It's a package deal. I can't be breaking up families.

Brody kept me entertained until I had to go back to work at 1. I can't believe how big he's gotten and how much he talks. What a chatterbox! He knows my name is Amanda, but he calls me Red just because everyone does. Anyway, my sister-in-law, Amanda, came over, and Brody called her "other Red." What's not to love about this kid? It's upsetting that I don't get to see him more often, but I suppose I can't complain since I see him more than, say, his grandma does...

Yesterday Angie brought me back to Duluth and saw my apartment and got a cell phone and I bought new bras at the mall and we got frozen yogurt and we went for a walk on the Lake Walk for old time's sake. It was more fun than two sisters should be allowed to have (that sounds dirty, but it wasn't) and I felt like I really should have taken advantage of it and enjoyed it more when Angie lived in Duluth and I saw her every day.

But there ya go. That was my weekend. It probably doesn't sound too exciting, but Mike came home too, so it was nice to have the whole family under one roof again. I even got to see my grandma, who must have smacked me a half a dozen times for various reasons. God do I hope I'm that feisty when I'm pushing 92.